


Love is a Thing with Feathers

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Blanket Permission, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Not Beta Read, Physical Abuse, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, Swans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: Moomintroll learned about Swan Maidens from Mamma. Pappa liked to tell long winded stories, of grand adventures and daring deeds that he had seen and done, but Mamma’s stories were the best, told late at night when it was just the two of them, Moomintroll curled up in the warmth of his bed with the covers tucked up close.She told stories about a Swan Maiden who had a magical cape, that turned her into a swan, and she could fly so high and see many things of the world, and she would tell him of all the things the swan had seen.
Relationships: Muminmamman | Moominmamma & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	Love is a Thing with Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the idea from [a tumblr post about everyone having wings that grow feathers when you're loved](https://ridinkskinned.com/post/138673319039/in-another-world-when-you-are-loved-you-grow), this [Megamind Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562251), and this [Ducktales fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593376).  
> Not beta'd, any corrections are welcome. Posted in a hurry so that people had stuff to read instead of worrying about the american election tonight.

* * *

Snufkin’s first memories were of feathers. 

Not that this was a surprise. Everyone had wings on their backs. Love wings, they were called, for they only grew when someone loved you, reacting to their feelings. 

Before Snufkin had been a vagabond, he’d been an orphan amidst a lot of other orphans. He hated it there, where the rooms were too small and enclosed, everyone tripping over each other. He hated the stiff rough clothes and the foul smelling soaps they’d scrub him down with whether he wanted a bath or not. 

Snufkin hated the other kids too, the ones who would mock him for being half mymble, pull on his tail and laugh at his claws and sharp teeth. The adults who ignored it until he got frustrated and lashed out, only to be punished because he was ‘dangerous’. 

He’d escape from the orphanage any chance he could get, to run free in the forest far away until he was caught again. 

Snufkin’s wings had always been small and plain. He had no feathers from his mother, who had long since forgotten him, nor his father, whom he sometimes wondered even knew of Snufkin’s existence. He had no feathers from his siblings nor friends, and that was fine by him. 

His wings were small and plain and brown, but they were enough that he could guide from tree branch to tree branch, and those were his first memories, playing there with the birds of the forest and learning their songs. 

The birds taught him a lot of things, useful things. The herons taught him how to fish, to stay motionless in the reeds until the right moment to strike. The owls taught him how to catch mice, squirrels, and tasty rabbits. Ravens and crows showed him the best parts of carrion, then laughed as they ate it for themselves. He learned how to find worms and bugs from the robins, the wrens teaching him about plants and berries. 

Although that last part was sometimes iffy, and he quickly learned which berries they both could eat, and some that only they could. 

It was from the birds he learned how to groom, to maintain his feathers, his tiny wings. When to splash around in the water, and when to roll in the dust to take care of pesky mites. How to preen his feathers, keep them healthy. They’d sometimes land on him, checking for bugs, occasionally stealing a loose hair or two for his nest. 

Then one day, swans appeared. 

Snufkin watched from the reeds where he was looking for frogs, as they landed in the water as graceful as could be. Then with a twirl of feathers turned into maidens. Beautiful graceful maidens, who laughed and hugged each other, chatting amongst themselves like people who hadn’t seen each other in a long time, pure white wings fluttering in the air. 

He’d been so distracted by trying to figure out how they transformed, that almost he missed it as the birds and frogs around them went silent and still.

Which is when he’d looked around, spotting men creeping through the forest, their eyes on the Swan Maidens, nets and ropes in their hands. 

He’d done the only thing he could think of, to scream at the top of his lungs. The Swan Maidens turned to see what the noise was, spotting the men, who flung themselves into the water to try and catch the women. Snufkin watched with his heart pounding in his ears as he watched the maidens turn back into swans and fly away, disappearing into the blue sky and out of reach of the men. 

He wished he could join them. It seemed like the ultimate freedom, the ability to fly as far as one wanted, to not have to worry about clothes or shoes, or other kids pulling your tail. To have nothing but the sky above and the earth below, and that be enough. 

Unfortunately, the men found him, hauling him out of the reeds by the back of his shirt, screaming about their lost chance of love. How they wanted the Swan Maiden’s cloaks, to force the women to be their wives. 

They broke his wings in revenge. 

Pinning him to the ground and stomping on his small brown wings until the bones shattered, and went numb against his back, unable to so much as even flutter. 

Through the tears in his eyes blurring his vision, Snufkin decided he didn’t care. 

The adults at the orphanage trapped him inside under the guise that they loved and cared for him. These men wanted to imprison the Swan Maidens for love. 

Love was a cage you put other people onto. 

If that was love, Snufkin wanted nothing to do with it.

* * *

( _Moomintroll learned about Swan Maidens from Mamma. Pappa liked to tell long winded stories, of grand adventures and daring deeds that he had seen and done, but Mamma’s stories were the best, told late at night when it was just the two of them, Moomintroll curled up in the warmth of his bed with the covers tucked up close._

 _She told stories about a Swan Maiden who had a magical cape, that turned her into a swan, and she could fly so high and see many things of the world, and she would tell him of all the things the swan had seen._ )

* * *

The next time he left the orphanage, his healing wings still numb and strapped to his back, it was by foot. 

And he never went back.

He stumbled upon a vagabond camp, and they’d seen his small damaged wings and taken him in under their wings as sort of a mascot. 

They taught him how to live outside of the cages that were houses, to be free like a bird. That tents and bedrolls made pretty good nests. How to mend old soft clothing into new garments, or to make it last longer. How to fish with a pole and a string with a hook, and where to find scraps of food. 

Mumrik, is what they called him, with his long dark tufted tail and clawed fingers. He didn’t have the furry nose, or the slitted eyes of a full mumrik, but they showed him how to disguise his other features from normal folk. To wear gloves, and tuck his tail under a long coat. Mumrik were known to be trouble makers, and civilised people would object to him just on that basis, but if he looked harmless, he could squeak by without too much inspection. 

When his wings healed as much as they were going to and he was ready to head out on his own, one of the old timers took the hat off his head and set it on Snufkin’s head with a fond look, saying he was one of them now. Officially a vagabond. It was pointed and green like the forest, the old man promising it’d keep him dry. Snufkin liked the hat, the way it was scuffed from use, shaded his eyes from the too bright sun. 

He left, a pack on his back, a hat on his head, and the wide world underneath his feet. 

He enjoyed the solitude of the road, getting to walk where the wind took him. Occasionally he’d meet up with others, settling down for a night to share the fire with company, trading stories and advice. 

He learned to play the harmonica over one. The silver instrument allowed him to talk to the birds in his own way. It wasn’t quite speech, but it was close enough. 

Talking was hard. Music was easier.

* * *

( _One day, the Swan Maiden took off her feathered cloak to bathe and talk with her sisters, for it was hard to chat as a swan. Her cape had been stolen, and she’d become a bride, a housekeeper, and a mother instead of a swan._ )

* * *

Life as a vagabond wasn’t easy. It was an uncertain lifestyle, but he found it worth it, for the freedom and the places he experienced. 

There was no safety net, not really. Sickness and injury was a lot more serious of an issue when there was no one there to help you, and the only medicine was what he could either scrounge or carry with him. 

Staying warm was another, and he found himself heading south during the colder seasons out of self preservation. 

Food was always something that he had to keep an eye out for, scrounging as he went, fishing where he could. But he still spent a lot of nights hungry, the only thing filling his belly were its angry growls. Sometimes he did the occasional odd job for coins or food, and if the opportunity offered itself he would play his harmonica for his supper. 

Being polite, young, and harmless looking helped a lot, people were more inclined to be kind to him, than if he were none of those things. He tended to be paranoid about hiding his mumrik traits, making sure he always had his gloves on, he didn't show his fangs, and that his tail was tucked away out of sight under his loose coat. The tail wasn’t such a big deal, lots of creatures had tails, but accidently showing his claws resulted in unintentionally scaring people, and him being chased out by people waving broomsticks or rakes. 

It became a mask that he wore long enough that he eventually forgot he was wearing it. 

Sometimes he’d run across another vagabond, the two of them pooling resources for a meal. If one person had a fish, and another had potatoes, fish and potato soup made for a much more filling meal than each on its own. 

There didn’t tend to be a lot of vagabonds around, but there were enough that Snufkin started to be able to tell them apart. There were lots of reasons to be a vagabond. There were some, like Snufkin, who craved the freedom and the isolation, and those were his favourite to meet up with. They also had the best stories 

There were others for whom it wasn’t a choice, but a circumstance forced upon them. Sometimes this meant that being a vagabond was temporary, moving from one place to somewhere else to settle down, in search of a better life. For others, they were running from something or someone. Some of these were running from the law, and Snufkin tried to avoid these for no other reason than they brought trouble. 

And some were vagabonds because they were crazy. 

There was a man at one of the fires who had a cloak made of feathers. It was a dusty grey damaged thing, and when the man caught Snufkin looking at it, he said it belonged to his wife. He’d stolen the cloak from a Swan Maiden and made her his wife. They had kids, and a happy life, or so he thought. 

When his wife found her cloak, and she changed the kids into swans, who flew away into the sky. He’d grabbed her cloak to keep her from leaving as well and…

According to the man, he was searching for his wife to give her wings back. 

From the whispers from the other travellers once the man had limped off to bed, he’d killed his wife and gone insane. That the story of the cloak was a fantasy because he was unable to face what he had done. 

Snufkin bit the inside of his lips and said nothing, quietly leaving the next morning.

* * *

( _Moomintroll cried over the Swan’s stolen cape, and Mamma soothed him, her fingers running through the fluffy feathers of his wings, assuring him that the Swan was happy, that she’d come to love her mate, cared for her son more than anything in the world._

_It still didn’t seem fair to Moomintroll though. Wings were so clumsy sometimes, so heavy. Surely it was better to fly._

_Mamma just smiled and said he’d understand it when he was older and found a mate of his own._ )

* * *

Snufkin’s first impression of Moomintroll was that he had the biggest, softest, fluffiest wings on anybody he’d ever seen. They were so big and full of love that they almost overbalanced the small round Moomin, making him wobble as he tried to run, a grin as bright as sunshine on his face. 

The second was that he was the most accepting person Snufkin had ever met. Snufkin’s status as a vagabond meant little to Moomintroll, other than it meant that Snufkin made beautiful music on his mouth organ and had interesting stories to tell. And that Snufkin was an excellent prop for napping against when the summer sun got heavy and drowsy. 

Snufkin had never been good with people, but somehow Moomintroll made it easy, and he found himself looking forward to spending time with his new friend. The rest of the valley wasn’t bad either, and he liked almost everyone he met. 

He hadn’t come to Moomin Valley looking for friends, much less to stay for more than a day or two, but he ended up delaying his travels anyway. The Moomins offered him a room in their house, which he thanked them for, but pitched his tent in the forest, close to the Moomin House but not so close that he didn’t have any privacy. 

He said it was because he didn’t have anywhere urgent to visit, that there was plenty of food in the valley for him to gather, the weather was nice. 

Which was all true, but that wasn’t the reason he found himself promising to come back in the spring when the weather turned cold and he needed to head south again. 

* * *

( _The first time Moomintroll met Snufkin, he wondered how Snufkin could travel so far without wings. He asked Mamma about it, and she shook her head, commenting that for some, wings were a private matter._

_When Snufkin returned in the spring, Moomintroll was too happy to see him to ask, and forgot about it. Snufkin was Snufkin, and that was all that mattered.)_

* * *

The second thing Snufkin realised when he met Moominmamma was that her wings were that of a swan, and made a mental promise to avoid getting on her bad side. He’d seen what happened to animals who riled up a Mamma Swan and limped away with broken limbs from their heavy club like wings. 

Or didn’t limp away at all, becoming food for the fish that the swans would later eat. 

His first thought was that she was where Moomintroll got his wings. Moominpappa’s wings were a similar bright white to his wife and son, but his wings were shaped differently, those of a pigeon or a dove, not a swan. 

Pigeons were proud, almost to the point of pretentious, and could always find their way home. 

But Moominmamma’s wings were not entirely like Moomintrolls. Moomintroll had bits of pastel colours in the undersides of his wings, from where his friends and family loved him. A muted stormy grey the colour of his father’s eyes, and a mossy green from his mother. Gold from Snorkmaiden, and a dusky colour from Sniff. 

Moominpappa had pale blue and green feathers tucked away on the underside of his, the muted colours of Moomintroll and Moominmamma’s eyes. 

Moominmamma’s wings were entirely white, like a bird’s. 

He didn't say anything, but he watched, and he waited.

* * *

( _Snufkin’s a very private person. It’s such a strange concept to Moomintroll, he didn’t know anyone else with secrets. Everyone in the valley was so friendly and open, and he’d never had to learn how to be with someone who was reserved and closed off._

_Not that it wasn’t worth it. He liked Snufkin’s gentle nature, his shy closed mouthed smiles, and his sly humour. Snufkin had travelled even further than Pappa had, but his stories weren’t as wild as Pappa’s. They’re smaller, somehow more intimate, like sharing small secrets and rare hidden moments trapped in time, and Moomintroll loved it. He liked the music Snufkin brings back every year too, the songs of what he heard._

_The first time he got Snufkin to laugh, to really laugh from his belly, mouth open and head tilted back, Moomintroll realised two things._

_One, he really wanted to make Snufkin laugh like that more often, unselfconsciously and beautiful._

_And two, Snufkin had fangs, an entire mouth full of sharp teeth._ )

* * *

“Do you need help finding your cloak?” He asked one Moominmamma afternoon, after having offered to help her in the kitchen as everyone else outside was enjoying the sun. It was strangely hard to talk to her on her own, everyone always tending to pile up on everyone else around the Moomin House. 

She startled, knocking a jar of wooden spoons off the counter, and he quickly knelt down to pick them up as she pressed herself against the counter, staring at him with giant eyes. He gave her a moment to collect herself, taking his time rinsing the spoons and putting them back. 

“How?” She finally whispered, looking terrified, her wings spread wide. 

“You’re not the first Swan Maiden I’ve met.” Snufkin set the jar back on the counter before turning to look at her. “Do you need help?” 

It’d hurt Moomintroll if his mother disappeared, but if she was trapped here, then it was a wrong that Snufkin had to fix. Even if it hurt his best friend. 

She relaxed, mantling her wings against her back, giving them a little shake as they settled. “I know where it is.” Moominmamma assured him with a small smile. “Pappa sometimes isn’t as clever as he thinks he is. But… I love my life here. I’m happy where I am.”

He nodded again, the worry he’d been carrying around in his chest when he’d realised what she was finally easing. 

“You?” She asked, her green eyes kind. “Do you need help finding yours?”

“Never had one.” Snufkin turned his face away, feeling his cheeks heat a little bit. A bit of pleasure, that she thought he had such a precious gift, and sorrow that he didn’t. “I used to fly, once. But not for a long, long time.” 

“Hmm.” She hummed, lightly brushing his cheek with a soft hand, an affectionate matronly gesture that was unfamiliar, but still made him feel light. “I hope you do again someday.” She whispered. 

It was unlikely, but he appreciated the gesture. “Thank you.”

* * *

( _Sometimes Snufkin would help Moomintroll preen his wings. Moomintroll loved his wings, loved the weight that he carries, secure in the knowledge that he loved, he is loved_ so much _, loved the feeling of wind as he glides from his room to the ground below him._

_But it also meant that it took a while to preen everything. It’s so much easier with two people._

_And Snufkin really was the best at grooming his feathers. Little My pulled his feathers too hard, then called him a baby when Moomintroll complained about it. Sniff got too distracted, Pappa was too busy, Mamma’s nice, but she’s so slow, and Snorkmaiden got bored partway through and wanted him to do her stork-like wings until they shone instead._

_But it wasn't just the grooming, or the fact that it’s usually the only time Snufkin was really comfortable allowing himself close enough to touch Moomintroll. It’s the fact that Snufkin had the magic touch when it came to those itchy spots right in between the wings._

_He could turn Moomintroll into a blissful pile of goo with just a few wiggles of his fingers. It was almost enough to make Moomintroll want to say it wasn't fair, because he never got to return the favour._

_Because Moomintroll really, really, **really** wanted to touch Snufkin’s wings. _

_… And maybe see if he could turn Snufkin into putty too._ )

* * *

It was years later before Snufkin thought about Swan Maidens again, as he was sitting comfortably in the Moomin House, drinking coffee. It was grey and drizzling outside, and he’d allowed himself to be coaxed inside. He could make his own coffee, and usually did, but sometimes it was nice to sit in the warm kitchen and chat with the Moomins instead of wrestling with dreary weather. Not always, but occasionally. 

He sometimes thought that his mymble side craved this, the people he cared about the most sitting around the table, close enough their elbows occasionally bumped in a friendly way. Mymbles were social creatures, rarely solitary, and he soaked it in like sunlight, biting back a contented purr. 

It was made more entertaining by the way Moomintroll couldn’t seem to stop squirming in his seat, hiking up one wing and then the other, something clearly annoying his feathers. Snufkin was waiting for him to finish eating so he could offer to help, to get a chance to take off his gloves and sink his paws into Moomintroll’s soft strong feathers, claws just barely scratching the skin. He enjoyed the way Moomintroll shivered and moaned at Snufkin's touch, probably more than he should. 

It’s a power he tried not to abuse too much, as he could make Moomintroll agree to pretty much anything while he had his fingers on his friend’s feathers. 

“Hold on, dear.” Moominmamma soothed, walking behind Moomintroll and smoothing out his feathers with a quick flick of her hand. It's a little bit of a disappointment, but the look of relief on Moomintroll's face was good too. 

“Thank you, Mamma.” Moomintroll leaned back, bumping his snout against hers, a little affectionate nuzzle. With their faces side by side, their similarities were clear. 

The coffee burned his throat as several thoughts came crashing down, a conclusion he didn’t want forming in his brain. 

He waited, holding his tongue as everyone else finished eating, then silently helped Moominmamma collect the dishes and place them on the sink. 

“Something wrong?” Moominmamma asked, perceptive in a way the rest of her family was not. Except for maybe Little My. He glanced around, spotting his sister teasing Moomintroll in the dining room before speaking. 

“Does Moomintroll have a cloak?” He asked quietly, pitching his voice low so it didn’t carry. 

Moominmamma went very still and tense, her eyes wide in terror. The only thing that moved were her wings, feathers were puffing up, wings arching as if to attack, snap forward and crack his skull open if need be. 

It was all he needed to know that his hunch was right, that Moomintroll had a cloak as well.

He felt almost dizzy with the knowledge, haunted by memories of the men who had tried to grab the Swan Maiden’s cloaks years ago, the crazy old man at the campfire with the skin of his dead wife. He couldn’t bear to think about Moomintroll in that position, hunted, trapped, viewed only as an object to be owned. 

“Keep it hidden.” Snufkin all but pleaded, barely keeping his tail from lashing around in terror. “Keep him safe.”

If anyone tried to steal Moomintroll’s cloak, they’d have to go through Snufkin first. And he was not a defenseless child any more. He had teeth and claws, and he was not afraid to use them to protect Moomintroll if he needed to.

Moominmamma stared at him for a moment, green eyes thoughtful as she folded her wings against her back once more. 

“Call me ‘Mamma’.” She said, then turned her attention back to the dishes. 

They never spoke of it again, but then they didn’t really need to either. They’ll both do everything they could to protect Moomintroll.

* * *

( _“You remind me of someone with whom I used to travel with.” Pappa said one day after Snufkin had barely escaped being spotted tearing down signs in the park. He’d ended up fleeing with a wooden sign that said ‘No fires allowed’ that they were attempting to burn in the house fireplace._

_“Oh?” Snufkin had looked interested. “Who?”_

_“The Joxter.” Pappa said proudly. “Hated signs and anything that might limit freedom. Had a burning loathing towards them you might say.”_

_Pappa had shown Moomintroll pictures of the Joxter before, who seemed to be more feline than anything else. The Joxter had striking pale slitted eyes, sharp teeth, dark furry paws with claws on the end, a spine like an eel, and a long expressive tail with a fluffy tuft on the end. He also wore a hat similar to Snufkin, which was probably where Pappa had gotten the idea._

_Moonintroll‘s chest gave a little flutter as Snufkin seemed to light up, his eyes sparkling in delight. “I’m honoured.” He murmured, a rare happy smile teasing on his face._

_“Yes, well. He was a Mumrik.” Pappa cleared his throat with a small grumble. “Troublemakers and hooligans they are, the whole lot of them. You’d do well to heed my advice and stay well clear of any you meet.”_

_It was only because Moomintroll was watching Snufkin’s face closely that he spotted the dismay that flashed across his friend’s face. “Ah.” Snufkin said, tilting his head down so the brim of his wide hat covered his expression. “I see.”_

_Little My made an irate sound like a hissing tea kettle, Snufkin taking advantage of the distraction to slip out of the room. Moomintroll followed as quietly as he could, finding the front door a jar and peeking out._

_Snufkin was on the front porch, painted silver by the moonlight. He was breathing a little harder than normal, as if having trouble keeping his emotions under control as he stared at his paws._

_His ungloved paws, which were covered in dark fur, with claws on the ends. Moomintroll watched as Snufkin idly flexed his fingers, the sharp looking claws extending and retracting, but never disappearing entirely._

_Mumrik paws._

_With a soft sigh, Snufkin walked away, Moomintroll watching his friend’s bowed back until he disappeared into the forest._ )

* * *

It’s with a jolt that when he returned in the spring that Snufkin realised that Moomintroll’s wings don’t just seem larger than they were last Autumn, but that they really were bigger. 

Moomintroll’s larger in general, he’d always been just a little shorter than Snufkin, but now Snuffkin had to tilt his head up a little to meet Moomintroll’s sky blue eyes. He could tell by the sparkle that Moomintroll had noticed as well, but was politely not saying anything about it. 

Which meant Moomintroll would be grinning and giggling about this for **days**.

But what concerned Snufkin was that there are new feathers, new primaries on Moomintroll’s wings.

New feathers with green tips, as if Moomintroll’s feathers have been stained by the grass that he was running over. Except that Moomintroll’s wings have been dragging in the grass for years now, and they’ve never done that before. 

Someone **loved** Moomintroll. Loved him enough to give him wings that look like he could more than just glide with them, but actually fly. 

Snufkin smiled and congratulated his friend on his growth spurt, taking the wind out of Moomintroll’s sails, and making him laugh, spinning around to show off his increased height and beautiful wings. 

They spend the first day back together talking and catching up, little stories of what they’ve been up to since they parted. Snufkin managed to keep his hands to himself until they reluctantly split to go to bed in their separate places, focusing on the delight he felt at seeing his much missed friend again.. 

It was only once the tent was set up, the bedroll stretched out along the ground that Snufkin allowed himself to think about green stained wings, curling into a ball, head buried in his arms, tail wrapped around his legs. 

He’d always known love wasn’t for him. 

Love was a cage, and he’d never allow anyone to be trapped like that by him. The fact that his wings were broken had always felt like a blessing in disguise. Just like he would never carry someone else’s feathers, no one would ever have to deal with their feathers being tainted by Snufkin’s dull brown colouring, as if they were dirty and in need of a wash. 

But he hadn’t expected to feel hurt by it, seeing the pale green colouring on Moomintroll’s wings. The only people in the Valley that he knew with green eyes were Mamma and Little My, but he didn’t think it was either of them. 

Which meant it’s someone else, some sort of mystery person who loved Moomintroll enough to let him fly. 

Probably somebody who could stay, who didn’t need their solitude, or left at random times, overwhelmed by the crowds that the Moomins drew. Someone who was probably kind and respectable, not a vagabond who occasionally ran from the police for stealing park signs. Someone whom Moomintroll deserved.

Snufkin closed his eyes and breathed, ignoring the aching hollow feeling in his chest, the prickling sensation in his eyes. 

Moomintroll would find this person, and they’d move into a new house, a smaller house, and have little Moomins of their own. Moomintroll wouldn’t have time for adventures or stories, or anything else Snufkin could do. And Snufkin would smile and eventually stop visiting the valley, becoming nothing more than a distant memory, like the Joxter was for Moominpappa. 

As he should be. 

It was a good thing. He was happy for Moomintroll.

Really.

* * *

( _Moomintroll loved Snufkin’s eyes._

_They look like a solid dark brown at first glance, shadowed under the hat. But he’d seen Snufkin’s eyes without the hat in the sunlight, and really only the outer edge is brown. The rest of his eyes were green, dark pine needle green with tiny flecks like fresh grass here and there._

_But the best part was when they’re sitting either sitting around the campfire, or watching the full moon, and the light reflected off of Snufkin’s eyes, making the slitted eyes bright green, the colour of sunlight through pale newly sprouted leaves._

_Snufkin’s never mentioned it, so Moomintroll has never brought it up, keeping it like the sweetest of secrets under his tongue._ )

* * *

There are times when it’s hard to be tame. 

That’s what it means, to be civilised. To follow rules, and courtesies. To live in boxes instead of under the stars, to eat with utensils instead of your paws. 

To occasionally not bother with cooking your food at all, eating it as it wiggled about on your tongue. 

He doesn’t mind it most of the time, but he’s half Murmik, and sometimes he needs to _be_ a Murmik, get away from his friends and be a little feral. 

“Laundry day?” Moomintroll’s voice was both sad and disappointed, that Snufkin was disappearing for the day. It was both comforting and an annoyance, to have someone who wanted to know where he was going, and Snufkin had never quite gotten used to it. Some days it was more one than the other. 

“I’ll be back by nightfall.” He promised, tipping his hat towards his friend and walking away. It was honestly the easiest way he’d found to get out of a conversation, to simply remove himself from the situation. 

He kept a steady pace until he knew he was out of sight of the Moomin House, then he stopped and sat down on a rock, freeing his tail from his coat, letting it swing around for a while. He took off his gloves, then unlaced his boots, and took off his socks. He tucked everything into his pack, then wiggled his toes, stretching his feet out. 

If he were a full mumrik, he’d walk on his toes and the ball of his foot, but he’s half. He can’t walk entirely flat footed like most people either, which is why his boots have such a high heel, to give his feet the angle he needs to walk most comfortably. 

He stood up, bouncing a little on his feet, then lifted his arms up above his head and stretched, his pack a comforting weight against his back, comfortably pressing his wings against his spine. Feeling pleased, he crouched down, digging his claws into the ground, giving his hips a little wiggle, tail lashing in the air.

Then he took off running on all fours, bouncing off of trees and rocks as he went. It was faster than two legs, and the closest he could get to flying. It was fun and exhilarating. 

It’s also something he couldn't keep up for long. He could walk all day without tiring, but only a few minutes in a sprint like this, and he quickly found himself tiring. But there’s a short cut to the pond he wanted to go to, up a sheer cliff face, and he launched himself up it, leaping from rock to tree root, claws digging into the soil as he pulled himself up. 

His muscles were aching by the time he reached the top and he plopped face first into the grass, breathing hard, something like satisfaction curling in his chest. He doesn't let himself do that often, but it's laundry day and no one ever comes here, so it's safe to do so.

'Here' is a small shallow pond, more of a widening of the small creek that runs through it, but it’s perfect for what he needs. There was also a bunch of berry bushes nearby to snack on later. 

Business first. Laundry. 

With a groan, he pulled himself up, the soft grass tickling his bare feet as he walked over to a nearby tree, which has low branches perfect for hanging his laundry on. He sat down, emptying his pack, setting his shoes and gloves to the side, pulling out his spare shirt and trousers, as well as his blankets. There’s a sliver of soap at the bottom from when he and Moomintroll helped Mamma make it, the harsh lye making Snufkin’s eyes water. She’d let them pick the scents they wanted, and he’d chosen pennyroyal, crushing the leaves into the soapy mixture. 

It smelled mildly minty, and it kept the insects off of him, both things he enjoyed. Mamma had been impressed, making a batch for the Moomin family as well, for late summer when the biting insects came out. 

He shed his clothing, leaving his hat on his pack, then gathered everything up and walking over to the pond, tossing the fabric into the water, crouching down and beginning to scrub. Mamma had offered many times to do his laundry with the rest of the families, but he always turned her down, not minding the chore as it gave him an excuse to get away for awhile. 

He hummed as he scrubbed, a few friendly birds landing on his shoulders and head, adding their own music to the song. It made the work go by faster, and soon he was wringing everything out and draping it over the tree branches for the sun and the wind to dry. 

Clothing and bedding clean, the next order was himself. He dove back into the water, which barely reached his knees, splashing about, his wings flapping weakly as he fluffed them up and got them wet. He stretched them out as far as they would go, which wasn’t much. 

The dull brown feathers were a mess, going every which way and he made a token effort to smooth them out. He wasn’t like Moomintroll and everyone else where his feathers in a disarray made him irritable, he couldn’t feel them, so it wasn't really a priority. As long as they fit flat under his pack, he was fine with them. 

He scrubbed his hair and his fur with the soap, claws combing through the rough hair that covered his extremities. He sometimes wondered if the Joxter was also mostly furless like he was, or if his father was completely covered. And if so, why the Joxter wore clothes and boots. 

But such questions were never to be answered, so he didn’t dwell on them. His body was slightly strange, a hybrid mix of two species, and he’d never met anyone else that looked like him, but it was his body and it served him well. 

Grooming done, he debated getting out of the water to roll in the fresh smelling grass and dry off when a shimmer in the water reminded him he hadn’t had lunch yet. He licked his lips, eyes focusing on the minnow in the water. He brought his limbs under him, the tip of his tail curling in small circles as he crouched down, ready to pounce. 

The minnow turned, and he lept, claws out and grabbed the small fish. He shoved the wiggling fish into his mouth, chewing with pleasure at the taste of fresh meat, the crunch of tiny fragile bones. 

Porridge was fine and all, but he needed meat at least once a day to fill his stomach or it was as if he hadn't eaten at all. And it tasted delicious.

Wings fluttering and tail curling happily, he began to look around for another tasty morsel to eat. 

A delighted voice made Snufkin startle. “Your wings are that of a Robin!” 

With sinking horror, he looked up to see Moomintroll standing on the hillside, a basket in his hand.

* * *

( _Moomintroll imagined a hundred times, a thousand times, what kind of wings Snufkin had, what type would suit him best. It changed through the years, as his friend grew and shared more about himself._

_At first, even before he knew that Snufkin’s eyes were actually slitted like a cat's, Moomintroll thought he had to be some sort of bird of prey. A kestrel perhaps, or a hawk. The way that Snufkin could always find his way around in the dark makes him bet Snufkin’s an owl for a while._

_His fondness for fishing and water had Moomintroll running through lists of waterfowl, ducks, geese, and cranes, but none of them feel right. The little wrens and finches, like Little My’s wings, don’t feel right either. Something bigger than a wren, but smaller than a duck is Moomintroll’s guess._

_One thing Moomintroll is completely sure of, is that whatever type of bird wings Snufkin has, it’s migratory, with the way Snufkin always leaves for the winter but is back for the spring._ )

* * *

Snufkin sat down with a splash, hands in front of his lap, tail wrapped around his ankles, his tiny wings folding against his back, trying to be as small and hidden as he can. He felt horrifyingly, embarrassingly extremely exposed. “ **MOOMINTROLL!** ”

“Oh!” Moomintroll blinked, his eyes going huge and round for a moment before he clapped his paws over his eyes and turned around. “Right! Sorry!”

Snufkin leapt out of the water, dashing towards his clothing. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his wet trousers and quickly put them on, overwhelmed by the urge to just grab the rest of his clothing and take off running and not stop for several weeks. He left his tent behind at the house, but he had survived without it before, he could do so again.

He couldn’t believe he was _seen_ , and by Moomintroll no less. This was bad, this was bad, this was _so_ bad. 

Moomintroll’s shy voice broke through his thoughts. “Can I preen your wings-?” 

The question is so unexpected it made him turn and look at Moomintroll, who still had his back turned. "What?!"

“They look soft.” Moomintroll's voice was quiet, with a wistful edge to it. “They’re a pretty colour too. They look like one colour, then when you spread them out, there’s a cream coloured edge at the bottom like a surprise.” 

‘Soft’ and ‘Pretty’ were never words Snufkin had ever thought to apply to his wings. 

“And I’ve always wanted to.” Moomintroll added, his voice firmer. 

“Why?” Snufkin can’t imagine anyone wanting to touch his wings. They were just there, useless things.

“You’re really good at preening mine, and I never get to return the favour.” Moomintroll shrugged a shoulder. “And besides, they’re **yours** , aren’t they?” He said it as if that was the most obvious thing. They were Snufkin’s wings, so therefore Moomintroll wanted to touch them. 

Perhaps, to Moomintroll, it was as simple as that. 

“You don’t have to!” Moomintroll hastily added. “I just… Figured before you hid them away again. I could?” He mumbled, sounding miserable. 

“I…” The words caught in his throat, hitching his breath. He’d never considered that Moomintroll might want to return the favour. Snufkin stared at the growing green on the edges of Moomintroll’s wings, the reminder of someone else’s love. 

If Moomintroll touched Snufkin's wings, he'd learn the truth. That Snufkin was broken and could never love him as Moomintroll deserved. There'd be no more smiles, no more cheerful greetings, no more Moomintroll.

But Moomintroll had already seen his wings, it was too late to put that secret back in the box. Might as well let Moomintroll learn the rest. “Alright.” He finally agreed, his heart sinking.

“Really?!" Moomintroll's voice nearly cracked in eagerness. "Stay right there! I’ll be right over!” Moomintroll turned and started running down the hill, pausing only to figure out the best place to cross the creek. 

Snufkin took a few steps out of the shade of the tree, into the sunlight and sat down, feeling like his limbs were made of pudding and unable to hold him. He bowed his head, curling his tail around him, feeling as if he were waiting for an executioner’s blade. 

“There you are.” Moomintroll’s voice was fond as he set the empty basket down next to Snufkin. Snufkin stared at it for a moment as Moomintroll walked behind him, sitting down with a thump. 

“What are you doing out here anyway?” Snufkin asked, his voice soft. There was a slight pressure on his spine, and he could feel his wings shifting a little bit, so he assumed it meant that Moomintroll was running his fingers through the feathers. 

“Berry picking.” Moomintroll said cheerfully. “Mamma sent me out to get some to make jams for later. You’d mentioned a good place to pick them around here, so I figured I’d go on a bit of an adventure. I didn’t expect to run into anyone here, didn’t even recognize you at first!” 

But he had, much to Snufkin’s chagrin. A niggling thought caught his attention. “How long were you standing there?” Much to his annoyance, he hadn’t even realised that anyone else was there at all. 

He could feel Moomintroll freeze behind him. “... Probably longer than I should have.” He said slowly, and Snufkin barely bit back a sigh of misery. Which meant that not only had Moomintroll seen him naked and bathing, he’d probably watched as Snufkin stalked and then ate a raw fish. Really, the day couldn’t get much worse at this point. 

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his body, really. It was just private. Personal. 

Moomintroll slowly began to move again, and Snufkin felt the brush of a gentle finger down his spine, nearly feather light. “I was so preoccupied.” Moomintroll said slowly. “Trying to figure out what kind of wings you have that I just now realised that you weren’t wearing anything the whole time.” 

“Yes.” Snufkin agreed. That was one of the reasons why laundry day was away from people, because the only practical way to wash everything was to go naked for a while. 

“Sorry about that.” Moomintroll added with a small chuckle. “Honestly, I forgot for a moment that you normally wear clothes.” 

Which really, is such a Moomintroll type of thing to do, and he huffed in amusement, feeling a jolt of fondness. Moomintroll would always be Moomintroll. 

They lapsed into silence, and Snufkin let his eyes close, exhaustion starting to replace the panic. He didn’t know what Moomintroll was doing, but from the occasional soft hums, his friend was doing something. 

“Your wings are a mess.” Moomintroll finally said in amused annoyance. “Do you ever groom them?!”

“Not really.” Snufkin admitted. 

“Hmm.” He thought Moomintroll might have frowned at that, but that would mean turning around to look, and Snufkin didn’t want to do that just yet. 

“You…” Moomintroll paused, clearly hesitant at breaching a topic and Snufkin sighed to himself, waiting for the blade to drop in the form of a question. “You don’t have any love feathers-?” 

“No.” Snufkin reached over his shoulder, wiggling his fingers for a moment until Moomintroll put his paw in Snufkin’s. He brought Moomintroll’s paw up to the top of his wings, where the bones were. Moomintroll made a confused noise as he ran his fingers along the fractured mass of poorly healed bone, checking one wing, and then the other. 

“What happened?” Moomintroll’s voice cracked, distraught. 

“Unimportant.” Snufkin waved it off, earning a whimper. “But the result is that my wings are broken. I can’t feel them, and they don’t grow any feathers other than my own.” 

He’d had a brief moment of hope shortly after he first came to Moominvalley. The Moomins loved so easily, welcomed him so readily he’d thought that if he was ever going to get love feathers, it'd be from them. Which never happened, and he’d given it up. They **cared** , he knew that of course, but that was it. 

“You don’t…” Moomintroll hiccuped, and Snufkin was pretty sure that his friend might have been crying. “You can’t feel it when someone loves you?”

Snufkin shrugged, wanting to explain that it was unimportant. He had the sky and the world, he didn’t need anyone to love him. No one ever had, and he was fine with that, he didn’t need to carry useless feathers around as well, and-

The words didn’t come.

He stiffened as Moomintroll wrapped his arms around Snufkin, pinning his arms and wings, and then curled his giant wings like a giant cocoon, so that all he could see and feel was Moomintroll and feathers. He tensed, the fear of being closed in catching in his chest. 

“Do you have any idea?” Moomintroll asked, his voice cracking. “How much you are loved-?” 

The words hit like a knife in his chest, and he gasped, suddenly struggling to breathe as tears pricked in his eyes. He wasn’t, he couldn’t, it wasn’t _possible_ -

Moomintroll hugged him tighter, pressing himself to Snufkin’s back, as if he could physically push all the love he had into Snufmin’s body. 

Moomintroll had a lot of love in him. 

Enough to even love Snufkin. 

A ragged purr started in his throat, startling him. Moomintroll made a surprised sound, like a gasp, and Snufkin felt himself flush with embarrassment, the vibrations breaking up. 

He hadn’t purred like that since he was a small kit, either when he was extremely happy, or extremely afraid. 

“Don’t stop.” Moomintroll said against his back, lips moving against the bare skin of Snufkin’s shoulder. “It sounds lovely.” 

The purr started up again, almost feeling like taking a fresh breath of air after holding his breath for ages. Snufkin closed his eyes, leaning his weight back against his friend and let himself be loved.

* * *

( _”I don’t think Snufkin knows he can love.” Moomintroll told Mamma later that night after he’d explained the broken mess that was Snufkin’s wings and feathers._

_He didn’t tell Mamma about the rest, about how soft Snufkin’s feathers were and how good they smelled. Or the silky fur on Snufkin’s lower arms and legs, both similar and unlike Moomintrolls own. About his tail and the way it moved in hypnotizing curves when Snufkin had been hunting. How Snufkin was skinny, feeling like bones and whipcord muscle in his arms, how he’d wanted to drag Snufkin home and feed him full of good things._

_How Snufkin had been just the right size to fit against his body, how’d he been afraid that he might have scared Snufkin away forever when he hugged him tight. How he’d never ever wanted to let go, and he wanted to do it again and again, hug Snufkin as many times as Snufkin would allow._

_How his purr had felt against him, and he wondered what it’d be like to go to sleep feeling those vibrations against his chest, and wake up to it in the morning._

_How it’d hurt to leave Snufkin at his tent and go back into the house, carrying the basket of berries they’d picked together, to pretend that everything was fine. That he wasn’t afraid that Snufkin would be gone in the morning, and might choose not to come back._

_To have the knowledge that even if Snufkin loved Moomintroll, he didn’t think Snufkin would accept the same for himself._

_“That he can love, or that he can be loved, even without his wings?” Mamma clarified._

_“Both, really.” Moomintroll shrugged, thinking of the broken sound Snufkin had made when he’d asked if Snufkin could feel it when someone loved him._

_“Hm.” Mamma frowned, looking thoughtful. “What makes you say that?”_

_Moomintroll spread his wings, showing off the soft green feathers, the colour of sunlight through freshly grown leaves that ran along the bottom edge of his feathers, from the small of his back all the way to the new long primaries. He was pretty sure even more had grown in during the past several hours._

_It was a ridiculous amount of love feathers. Most romantic partners he saw just had the primaries, not the entire length of the wings._

_Mamma ran her fingers along one of the feathers, absently smoothing it out. “His eyes are brown.” She ventured. “... Aren’t they?”_

_“Only if you don’t look closely.” Moomintroll smiled, his favourite secret held close._

_Mamma’s eyes went wide. “I’ll look into it.” She promised, and Moomintroll felt something ease in him. Out of everyone, Mamma knew how to fix things the best._ )

* * *

The urge to run away was strong the next day, but Snufkin stayed, feeling as shaky as a newborn kit. The worst had happened, Moomintroll had seen him and knew about his wings. 

And at least one person loved him. The world didn’t end, and he was no more a prisoner was than he had been before he had known he was loved. 

In retrospect, he felt a little foolish for thinking that Moomintroll would want nothing to do with him once he learned about his wings. But he still found himself double checking his gloves and coat to make sure he was completely covered before joining the Moomin family and friends on the porch for breakfast, sitting on the railing, close enough to be a part of the group, but far enough away that he wasn’t being jostled. 

The relieved grin on Moomintroll’s face when he saw Snufkin was worth the discomfort of dealing with people so early in the morning. And Mamma’s coffee was delightful as always. 

Breakfast didn’t last long, Snorkmaiden and Little My teasing Moomintroll about his wings growing even more, and the three of them running up to Moomintroll’s room to jump out the window and see if he could actually fly. 

Snufkin didn’t say anything, sitting on the steps where he could watch them, tilting his face up towards the sun and enjoying the warmth. 

“Moomintroll told me a bit about your wings.” Mamma said quietly, sitting down next to him. “Not everything I think, but that they don’t grow. I searched my Grandmother’s book for anything that might help.” 

Snufkin blinked, not having expected that, finding himself touched. “Did you find anything?” He asked, curious. 

Mamma closed her eyes and shook her head with a regretful expression. “I’m afraid not.” 

A little spark of hope that he’d been unaware of fizzled and died. “That’s alright.” He dredged up a smile for her. “Thank you for trying.” 

Knowing Mamma, she probably scoured through the book for hours, trying to come up with any shred of an idea, and he was grateful for the effort. That she cared enough to try. 

She hummed, watching Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden glide in circles around the house. 

“You’re not jealous?” She ventured. 

He thought it over for a moment. Part of him was, but it’d been so long since his wings worked he scarcely remembered what it was like anymore. He remembered the flying, but not the actual wings part. 

“Only in that you can travel farther on wings than you can on foot.” He finally concluded. 

She laughed softly, arching a wing around him, enveloping him in her feathers as if he were a chick. He froze for a moment, not having expected the gesture of affection or the suddenly being enclosed, then relaxed, leaning against her side, a small chirp escaping his lips. He didn’t want or need a mother, hadn’t for years, but that didn’t stop him from soaking in the rare affection. 

“Don’t forget.” Mamma informed him. “Just because you can’t see our love, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

He nodded, face pressed against her arm, a lump in his throat. He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder what his wings would look like if they worked, but that hadn’t stopped him from picturing sky blue feathers mixed with his dull brown. 

Except that wasn’t right. There’d be the green of Mamma’s eyes too, a feather or two from Little My, and maybe one from Pappa. 

To the Moomins, love wasn’t a cage, it was a comfort. It gave you wings and let you fly. 

A purr started up in his chest unbidden, and he let it, closing his eyes as he leaned against Mamma. If she was surprised by the sound, she didn’t show it. 

“You Moomins love so deeply.” He finally said when he felt like he could speak again. “My wings would be much too big for me to carry my pack. Maybe it’s for the best, as it’s much lighter this way.” 

She laughed, like he’d hoped she would, and they settled into a comfortable silence, watching Moomintroll figure out how to fly instead of glide.

* * *

( _It’d always felt like there was this kind of invisible wall between Snufkin and the rest of the world, like no one would ever be able to breach, and Moomintroll had always found himself seething with jealousy when someone was able to slip through the cracks that Moomintroll couldn’t, to make Snufkin laugh and smile, like the little fire sprite Snufkin had so casually carried around._

_Now it was like that wall was gone, or at least Moomintroll was now included inside of it. Snufkin had never been one for physical signs of affection, he didn’t hug, or cuddle, or even liked being touched much. And that was fine, different people had different comfort levels._

_Snufkin still seemed a little awkward about it, but now he’d take off his gloves and let his tail out when it was just the two of them. Although once Little My had caught him like that, but only snorted in response and didn’t comment about it, a look of understanding flashing between Snufkin and Little My that confused Moomintroll._

_But this meant that instead of sitting across from the firepit or sitting half an arms length apart like they used to, Snufkin would sit next to him, and curl his tail around Moomintroll’s, which was something Moomintroll had never done before and didn’t know how he'd ever lived without._

_He didn’t say that though, instead curving the wing closest to Snufkin around him, covering him in white and green love feathers._ )

* * *

“You’re here late.” Mamma said as Snufkin came down the stairs from Moomintroll’s room, trying not to yawn. “It’s already started to snow a bit.”

“I know.” He nodded, not looking forward to the freezing trek out of the Valley. It’d seemed like such a little thing, when Moomintroll had shyly asked him to stay a little later. A way to repay him for everything he’d given Snufkin, even though he didn’t think that was possible. “But I promised I’d stay until Moomintroll fell asleep this year.” 

He’d almost wanted to join Moomintroll for hibernation, it’d been more effort than he anticipated to leave. Somehow waiting for Moomintroll to fall asleep had ended up with him on the bed, wrapped up in soft feathers with no memory of how he’d gotten there, only that he’d been very warm and comfortable. 

It was a memory he was going to carry with him through the cold winter nights. 

Mamma smiled at him, looking fond, like she didn’t find it strange that Snufkin would do such a thing. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you. It won’t take long, I promise.” 

“Alright.” He amiably agreed. Mamma wasn’t the kind to waste time unnecessary. 

She smiled at him and turned to the sofa, pulling something out of the cushions. “I’ll want this back in the spring, but I figured it could serve you well for the winter.” 

He didn’t quite see what she pulled out, just a blur of something pale, before she draped it over his head, wrapping it around him. Snufkin was almost going to protest that his coat was perfectly fine, when he realised that he was surrounded by a mass of white feathers. 

White swan feathers. 

“Is this…” He stumbled over his words, unable to comprehend what she’d just done. 

“My cloak, yes.” Mamma looked pleased. “We’ll need to make sure it fits, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to fly with these.” 

He swallowed, his throat clicking in alarm. “I don’t want to steal-“

“Pish.” Mamma waved a hand, giving him a firm look. “You’re not **stealing** anything, I’m willingly lending them to you. Completely different. Now off with the clothes, we need to make sure that you can transform.” 

Snufkin faltered for a moment, his brain feeling overloaded and stuffed with wool, before he realised she had given him a clear instruction and leapt to follow it. somehow getting all of his clothing off without ever losing contact with the cloak or letting it touch the ground. Mamma took his clothing as he shed it, folding them over the arm of the sofa until the only thing he was wearing was the cloud of white feathers. 

“There we go.” Mamma seemed pleased, adjusting the feathered cloak around his shoulders. She gave the top of his head a little nuzzle. “Now let’s see if this works.” She whispered, as if she was sharing a delightful secret with him. 

She grabbed part of the cloak from behind him and pulled it over his head. He closed his eyes as a rushing sensation, like he was falling swept over him, leaving him feeling slightly dizzy and awkward. 

“Open your eyes.” Mamma said, sounding breathless. He did so, blinking as he realised his vision had changed, not just seeing what was in front of him, but everything to the sides as well. He twisted his neck around, examining himself.

Snufkin was a swan. A giant white swan. He spread his wings wide, giving them a few experimental flaps, feeling the power behind them. He thought he could actually fly with these, they felt strong, and powerful, unlike his small broken ones. His tail feathers wiggled in joy. 

“Well, you don’t look like I did when I wore the cloak. You look like you.” Mamma said, walking around him, inspecting him with a critical eye. She touched the lump on top of his beak, which male swans had and females didn't. “Which is a good thing, you probably don’t have to worry about egg laying.” 

Snufkin made a strangled noise that made her laugh. 

“I’m teasing.” She assured him with a grin. “... Mostly.”

His vocal chords were different and he couldn’t speak. He lurched forward, his feet huge and awkward, wrapping his wings the best he could around Mamma, resting his head on her shoulder. It didn’t matter that he might end up laying eggs. He could **fly**. 

“We’ll see you in the spring.” Mamma said, gently hugging him back. “Go. Have fun.”

* * *

( _Moomintroll woke only once during the winter, interrupting a dream of white feathers and blue skies, the wind on his face. He patted the bed around him, dismayed to realise that it was cold, the level of snow on the window indicating it was most likely midwinter._

_Which meant that Snufkin had left weeks, if not months ago._

_He sighed, then rolled over and closed his eyes, tucking his wings in closer around him, missing the warmth he’d had in his arms that he’d fallen asleep with. He could go out and have another winter adventure on his own, but the faster he went to sleep, the sooner he could see Snufkin again._

_This time he fell asleep to dreams of warm brown earth and growing green plants._ )

* * *

Being a swan was the best thing ever. 

It wasn’t just the speed, which was exhilarating. What would normally take him two to three days to traverse on foot could be done in little more than an hour. He could go faster and farther than he ever had before. 

It wasn’t that when he was hungry, there were rivers and lakes to land in, fish and frogs to eat. Sometimes people would throw bread or vegetables, calling him pet names and commenting on how beautiful he was. Or that when he was tired, he had feathers and could comfortably tuck his head down and sleep, assured that he was too big for the fish to do more than try and nibble. 

Or that there was no need for tents, or packs, or to carry anything with him. 

No, the best part was how people didn’t want to get too close to him, for fear that he’d bite them. Which was kind of silly, he had sharper teeth in his normal mouth than in a bill. 

But it meant that he could waddle around and do what he wanted to his heart’s content, and no one would dare tell him what to do because he was a swan. And if anyone got too close, he’d hiss and flap his wings at them, and they’d cower in fear. 

It was delightful. He spotted the park keeper hiding behind some bushes and laughed to himself as he targeted a sign with a picture of a large white bird with a large ‘no’ symbol over it. This one he was going to go throw in the pond. He knew just the spot too. 

It was a beautiful day in the park, and Snufkin was a horrible swan.

* * *

( _Mamma woke him, shaking his shoulder, then holding a finger in front of her snout, motioning for him to follow her silently._

_Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he obeyed, the two of them climbing up to the attic, where Mamma stood on top of a box, reaching up to poking at something in the rafters. It was a suitcase, and after a few nudges, it came down, falling into Moomintroll’s arms._

_“Remember the stories of Swan Maidens I used to tell you about?” She asked as he set the suitcase down. He nodded as she hopped down from the box, straightening her apron in a nervous gesture. “Open it.”_

_Curious, he did so, finding it full of feathers. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” He said, looking up at her with a horrible feeling of understanding. Swan Maidens were just a myth._

_Weren’t they?_

_“Your Pappa pulled me out of the ocean, that’s true.” Mamma said, kneeling down next to him. “He pulled out a swan, and I travelled with him, the Joxter, Mudder, and Hodgkins for a while. When they split off for their own separate adventures and Pappa settled down here, I decided I wanted to say. I shed my cloak and offered it to him, and he said yes. I’ve never regretted it.”_

_Moomintroll stroked a few feathers in the cloak. They felt familiar somehow, but different. “So this is yours?”_

_“No, dear.” Mamma gave him a small smile. “Mine is currently out on loan. This is **yours**.”_

_“Mine?” He stared at the wings in awe. “So if I put this on-”_

_“You’ll turn into a swan, yes.” Mamma seemed delighted. “I’m not saying you should do it now, I just wanted to let you know before everyone else woke up. You’re old enough to start flying off on adventures of your own, and I wanted to offer it as a suggestion for next winter.”_

_Several thoughts flickered through his mind, and Moomintroll narrowed his eyes. “Who has your cloak right now-?” He asked suspiciously._

_Mamma’s smile grew wider. “We should see him a couple of days.”_ )

* * *

Snufkin had initially thought he’d be reluctant to return to Moomin Valley, wanting to fly around some more, but he found himself showing up precisely on the first day of spring, the snow not even having left the valley. 

The Moomin House stood tall and proud like a beacon, and he dove for it, landing with a giant splash in the creek in front of the house. He could land calmly and gracefully, but at the moment he was too eager to do so, wanting to see his friends. 

And to have hands again. Being a swan was amazing, but he wanted his regular body back. And no matter how often he preened the feathers, he still felt kind of dirty, in need of a bath. 

Which explained a lot about the stories of bathing Swan Maidens. He’d seen a couple of them in his travels but avoided them, afraid that they’d realise his cloak belonged to someone else and try to take it from him. And he'd promised Mamma he'd return it.

The front door flew open, Moomintroll running out. “You’re back!” He cheerfully exclaimed as Snufkin struggled to climb onto the bank. It became a non-issue as Moomintroll scooped him up, strong arms having no trouble cradling Snufkin’s weight. 

Snufkin wrapped his long neck around Moomintroll’s as he was carried back to the house. He’d missed his friend, wondering what it’d be like to fly with Moomintroll as swans, wanting to show him the world out there. 

Plus, with two of them, they could steal twice as many park signs. 

“Welcome back.” Mamma smiled as she stepped out onto the front porch, her gentle eyes sparkling. Snufkin turned towards her, unable to reply, but she seemed to understand. “Let’s get you changed back.” She said, resting her hands on his shoulders. 

He wasn’t sure what she did exactly, just that suddenly he had his normal head on his short neck again, wrapped up in a cloud of feathers. “Thank you.” He smiled, tail curling happily, both relieved to be himself again and already missing the feathers. 

Mamma gave his head a fond little nuzzle. “It’s yours now.” She informed him. “I’ll show you how to take it off and on later. But I’d hoped that you could show Moomintroll what to do, since I’ve long since forgotten how to forage.” 

Snufkin stared at her for a moment, then at Moomintroll. Moomintroll’s eyes crinkled up. “I’ve got my cloak.” He said quietly. “We could fly together.” 

Because Snufkin had wings now, beautiful strong wings, covered in white feathers. Feathers gifted out of love. 

He nodded, unable to speak. 

Thankful neither Moomin seemed to mind, Mamma wrapping them both up in a hug, covering them both in affectionate feathers. Snufkin pressed his cheeks against theirs, purring his gratitude. 

Finally Mamma pulled away. “But first, before anything else.” She said briskly. “A bath and then breakfast, I think. I washed your clothes, they’re clean and waiting for you.” 

“Thank you.” Snufkin said, meaning more than for doing his laundry. He paused, realising that Moomintroll was still holding him, and the only thing he was currently wearing was the feathers, which he really should give back. And thought about the logistics of getting up to the bath without being carried, and the odds of Little My not seeing him at an inopportune moment. 

“Do you think I could have my trousers first?” He asked hopefully. 

-fin-

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://ickaimp.tumblr.com/), where I post fics and photos.  
> Also looking for an active Moomin discord that welcomes older folks if anyone has any recommendations for where to talk theories and analysis.  
> Also, if anyone would like to do fanart of this fic, you have my permission, just let me know so I can link to it!
> 
> [KaviWilliams](https://kaviwilliams.tumblr.com/) drew a beautiful piece of [Snufkin watching the Swan Maidens as a kid](https://ickaimp.tumblr.com/post/634061811843481600/ok-i-read-ickaimp-s-story-and-loved-it-please), and [Moomintroll wrapping Snufkin up in his wings](https://ickaimp.tumblr.com/post/634339766838657024).


End file.
